REVENUE OF THE CORPORATION OF DONCASTER WELL APPLIED.
Play not for gain but sport: who plays for more
Than he can lose with pleasure, stakes his heart;
Perhaps his wife's too, and whom she hath bore.
HERBERT.
Well, gentle Reader, we have made our way through the Charters, and
seen that the Borough of Doncaster is, as it may be called, an
_imperium in imperio_—or _regnum_, or rather if there were such word
_regnulum, in regno_, (such a word there ought to be, and very
probably was, and most certainly would be if the Latin were a living
language)—a little kingdom in itself, modelled not unhappily after the
form of that greater one whereof it is a part; differing from it, for
reasons so evident that it would be a mere waste of words and time to
explain them,—in being an elective instead of an hereditary monarchy,
and also because the monarchy is held only for a year, not for life;
and differing in this respect likewise that its three estates are
analogous to the vulgar and mistaken notion of the English
constitution, not to what that constitution is, as transmitted to us
by our fathers.
We have seen that its Mayor (or Monarch,) its twelve Aldermen (or
House of Lords,) all being of the better and more excellent
inhabitants, and its four and twenty capital Burgesses (or House of
Commons,) all of the better, more reputable and discreet Doncastrians,
constitute one body corporate and politic in reality, deed and name,
to the fear and terror of the wicked, and for the support and reward
of the good; and that the municipal government has been thus
constituted expressly to the end that Doncaster might remain for ever
a borough of harmony and peace: to the better effecting of which most
excellent intent, a circumstance which has already been adverted to,
contributes greatly, to wit, that Doncaster sends no members to
Parliament.
Great are the mysteries of Corporations; and great the good of them
when they are so constituted, and act upon such principles as that of
Doncaster.
There is an old Song which says
Oh London is a gallant town
A most renowned city;
'Tis governed by the scarlet gown,
Indeed, the more's the pity.
The two latter verses could never be applied to Doncaster. In the
middle of the last century the revenues of the Corporation did not
exceed £1500. a year: at the beginning of this they had encreased to
nearly £6000., and this income was principally expended, as it ought
to be, for the benefit of the Town. The public buildings have been
erected from these funds; and liberal donations made from them to the
Dispensary and other eleemosynary institutions. There is no
constable-assessment, none for paving and lighting the street; these
expences are defrayed by the Corporation, and families are supplied
with river water chiefly at its expence.
Whether this body corporate should be commended or condemned for
encouraging the horse-races, by building a grand stand upon the
course; and giving annually a plate of the value of £50. to be run
for, and two sums of twenty guineas each toward the stakes, is a
question which will be answered by every one according to his estimate
of right and wrong. Gentlemen of the Turf will approve highly of their
conduct, so will those Gentlemen whose characteristics are either
light fingers or black legs. Put it to the vote in Doncaster, and
there will be few voices against them: take the sense of the nation
upon it by universal suffrage, and there would be a triumphant
majority in their favour.
In this, and alas! in too many other cases _vox populi est vox
diaboli_.
A greater number of families are said to meet each other at Doncaster
races, than at any other meeting of the same kind in England. That
such an assemblage contributes greatly to the gaiety and prosperity of
the town itself, and of the country round about, is not to be
disputed. But horse races excite evil desires, call forth evil
passions, encourage evil propensities, lead the innocent into
temptation, and give opportunities to the wicked. And the good which
arises from such amusements, either as mere amusement (which is in
itself unequivocally a good when altogether innocent)—or by
circulating money in the neighbourhood,—or by tending to keep up an
excellent breed of horses, for purposes of direct utility,—these
consequences are as dust in the balance when compared with the guilt
and misery that arise from gambling.
Lord Exeter and the Duke of Grafton may perhaps be of a different
opinion. So should Mr. Gully whom Pindar may seem to have
prophetically panegyrized as
’Ολυμπιονἰκαν
’Ανδρα,—πὺξ αρετὰν
Εὑρόντα. Ol. 7. 162.
That gentleman indeed may with great propriety congratulate himself
upon his knowledge of what is called the world, and the ability with
which he has turned it to a good practical account. But Lord Burleigh
methinks would shake his head in the antechamber of Heaven if he could
read there the following paragraph from a Sunday Newspaper.
“PLEASURES AND PROFITS OF THE TURF.—We stated in a former number that
Lord Exeter's turf-profits were for the previous season £26,000., this
was intended to include bets. But we have now before us a correct and
consecutive account of the Duke of Grafton's winnings from 1811 to
1829 inclusive, taking in merely the value of the stakes for which the
horses ran, and which amounts to no less a sum than £99,211. 3_s._
4_d._ or somewhat more than £5000. per annum. This, even giving in a
good round sum for training and outlay, will leave a sufficiently
pleasant balance in hand; to say nothing of the betting book, not
often, we believe, light in figures. His Grace's greatest winnings
were in 1822 and 1825: in the former of these years they amounted to
£11,364. 5_s._—in the latter £12,668. 16_s._ 8_d._”
It is to be hoped that the Duke has with his crest and coronet his
motto also upon the covers of his racing and betting books, and upon
his prize plates and cups;
ET DECUS ET PRETIUM RECTI.
Before we pass from the Race-ground let me repeat to the reader a wish
of Horace Walpole's that “some attempt were made to ennoble our
horse-races, by associating better arts with the courses, as by
contributing for odes, the best of which should be rewarded by medals.
Our nobility,” says he, “would find their vanity gratified; for as the
pedigrees of their steeds would soon grow tiresome, their own
genealogies would replace them, and in the mean time poetry and medals
would be improved. Their lordships would have judgement enough to know
if the horse (which should be the impression on one side) were not
well executed; and as I hold that there is no being more difficult to
draw well than a horse, no bad artist could be employed. Such a
beginning would lead farther; and the cup or plate for the prize might
rise into beautiful vases.”
Pity that the hint has not been taken, and an auxiliary sporting
society formed for promoting the education of Pindars and Benvenuto
Cellinis!
INTERCHAPTER V.
WHEREIN THE AUTHOR MAKES KNOWN HIS GOOD INTENTIONS TO ALL READERS, AND
OFFERS GOOD ADVICE TO SOME OF THEM.
I can write, and talk too, as soft as other men, _with submission to
better judgements,—and I leave it to you Gentlemen. I am but one, and
I always distrust myself. I only hint my thoughts: You'll please to
consider whether you will not think that it may seem to deserve your
consideration._—This is a taking way of speaking. But much good may do
them that use it!
ASGILL.
Reader, my compliments to you!
This is a form of courtesy which the Turks use in their compositions,
and being so courteous a form, I have here adopted it. Why not? Turks
though they are, we learnt inoculation from them, and the use of
coffee; and hitherto we have taught them nothing but the use of
tobacco in return.
Reader, my compliments to you!
Why is it that we hear no more of Gentle Readers? Is it that having
become critical in this age of Magazines and Reviews, they have ceased
to be gentle? But all are not critical;
The baleful dregs
Of these late ages,—that Circæan draught
Of servitude and folly, have not yet,—
Yet have not so dishonour'd, so deform'd
The native judgement of the human soul.[1]
[Footnote 1: AKENSIDE.]
In thus applying these lines I mean the servitude to which any
rational man degrades his intellect when he submits to receive an
opinion from the dictation of another, upon a point whereon he is just
as capable of judging for himself;—the intellectual servitude of being
told by Mr. A. B. or C. whether he is to like a book or not,—or why he
is to like it: and the folly of supposing that the man who writes
anonymously, is on that very account entitled to more credit for
judgement, erudition and integrity, than the author who comes forward
in his own person, and stakes his character upon what he advances.
All Readers however,—thank Heaven, and what is left among us of that
best and rarest of all senses called Common Sense,—all Readers however
are not critical. There are still some who are willing to be pleased,
and thankful for being pleased; and who do not think it necessary that
they should be able to _parse_ their pleasure, like a lesson, and give
a rule or a reason why they are pleased, or why they ought not to be
pleased. There are still readers who have never read an Essay upon
Taste;—and if they take my advice they never will; for they can no
more improve their taste by so doing, than they could improve their
appetite or their digestion by studying a cookery book.
I have something to say to all classes of Readers: and therefore
having thus begun to speak of one, with that class I will proceed. It
is to the youthful part of my lectors—(why not lectors as well as
auditors?) it is _virginibus puerisque_ that I now address myself.
Young Readers, you whose hearts are open, whose understandings are not
yet hardened, and whose feelings are neither exhausted nor encrusted
by the world, take from me a better rule than any professors of
criticism will teach you!
Would you know whether the tendency of a book is good or evil, examine
in what state of mind you lay it down. Has it induced you to suspect
that what you have been accustomed to think unlawful may after all be
innocent, and that that may be harmless which you have hitherto been
taught to think dangerous? Has it tended to make you dissatisfied and
impatient under the controul of others; and disposed you to relax in
that self government, without which both the laws of God and man tell
us there can be no virtue—and consequently no happiness? Has it
attempted to abate your admiration and reverence for what is great and
good, and to diminish in you the love of your country and your fellow
creatures? Has it addressed itself to your pride, your vanity, your
selfishness, or any other of your evil propensities? Has it defiled
the imagination with what is loathsome, and shocked the heart with
what is monstrous? Has it disturbed the sense of right and wrong which
the Creator has implanted in the human soul? If so—if you are
conscious of all or any of these effects,—or if having escaped from
all, you have felt that such were the effects it was intended to
produce, throw the book in the fire whatever name it may bear in the
title page! Throw it in the fire, young man, though it should have
been the gift of a friend!—young lady, away with the whole set, though
it should be the prominent furniture of a rose-wood book case!